


A Thousand Words and A Million More

by SeaHag



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Era, Eventual Smut, Happy Ending, Loosely based on, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Slow Burn, Victor is a war photographer and kind of the legendary, War Photographer AU, World War II, and Yuuri is a big fan, but not going to be completely historically accurate, eventually but I promise a, not really a surprise there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 10:25:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13164978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaHag/pseuds/SeaHag
Summary: Victor’s fake smile faded and his lips parted as he looked at Yuuri’s back. Yuuri took the silence as an invitation to elaborate, “Why war? Why photograph such ugly things when you can take such beautiful pictures?”Victor leaned against the windowsill, his eyes thoughtful and hollow, “It’s foul, it’s hard to look at. It’s hidden from everyone  and overlooked. But it's not something people should be shielded from. It's important. I want to capture that ugliness and show it to the world, and–”“And in that lies the most beautiful photography you’ll ever capture. Right?”When Victor looked down in surprise, he was greeted with Yuuri’s steady gaze poking through his bangs. There was a quiet moment of understanding, a long and drawn out silence, until Victor ripped his gaze from Yuuri’s to look out the window, “Yes."Yuuri's ears were red. Victor longed to reach out and touch them.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!
> 
> So this is an idea I've been cooking up for an entire year. I'm aiming for at least ten chapters, but knowing me it might be longer lol.
> 
> It's loosely inspired by the real life love of Gerda Taro and Robert Capa and is going to kind of be a love letter to war photographers. I haven't really decided if I'm going to go the historically real WW2 route yet, I may keep the war in this story 100% fictional, but the story takes place in the late 1930s/early 1940s and will be heavily inspired by the WW2 era. 
> 
> Basically Victor Nikiforov is a legendary war photographer (replace ice skating with photography in this AU), the best in his field. And Yuuri Katsuki is his biggest fan, whose first love is photography (Victor). He's been following Victor for a long time; he idolizes Victor. Victor notices his work through contest entries and sends out an invitation for Yuuri to learn under him. They start out as mentor and student, but obviously something more is going to happen. A lot of something mores are going to happen.
> 
> To avoid confusion I'm going to go with the Yuri&Yuuri spellings instead of Yuri&Yurio.
> 
> Song for prologue if you want bg music: Witches by Daughter

**Prologue**

 

**May, 1941**

 

Yuri clutched a torn photo tightly, causing the tear in the corner to rip further. The shades of grey were blurred slightly and almost too bright. It had to have been taken in a photo booth because Victor’s pictures were too perfect to ever be blurred like this. Victor had his arm wrapped around a plain, dark haired man and had his forehead nuzzled against the side of the man’s panicked face. Yuuri Katsuki. It was intimate. Quiet. Victor was giving the man a soft look of adoration—a look that Yuri didn’t think Victor was capable of. He always thought that Victor was an automaton of some sort, too perfect with a variety of fake smiles that would mask thinly veiled threats. There was always a weird emptiness to Victor but in this photo he looked full and warm enough to be human. He looked happy.

Another photo was folded hastily beneath the photo booth shot, full of crinkles and sprinkled with dark brown stains. Yuri grit his teeth and hesitantly opened it with shaking hands. There was a sea of sharp greys, treetops and fences. It was a breathtaking view from the top of a rolling, grassy hill. A head of jet-black hair and the back of a striped shirt blocked a bit of the view. Yuuri Katsuki again. He probably wasn’t even aware that Victor was taking this. Yuri could read the message that the picture was saying. Victor always had a message in his photographs, he had that rare, God-given talent that allowed him to speak with his photos better than any language. There's that saying that a picture could tell a thousand words; well, Victor's told a thousand words and then a million more. This one was saying that Yuuri was beautiful; it was a love letter. Yuri felt that this wasn’t something he should be looking at.

 “Yuri.”

 A familiar hand rested on the back of his neck, making him jump. He shot what he thought was a sour look up at Otabek, only to be greeted with Otabek’s thumb pressing between his eyebrows.

 Otabek’s voice was quiet and steady, “You look upset. You’re doing that thing with your eyebrows. Are you sure you’re up to this? Everyone is here.”

 “Yeah, yeah,” Yuri swatted Otabek’s hand away, shoving the weathered photographs into the pocket of his trousers, “I’m fine. I have to do this for that idiot. I have to.”

 A look of understanding fell over Otabek’s face, it was as if he couldn’t look Yuri in the eye. He slid his fingers through Yuri’s and pulled him up out of his chair, letting their hands linger together, “I’ll protect you no matter what happens.”

Yuri scoffed, “I don’t need protecting—“

 Otabek continued as if he didn’t hear him, not phased, “Are you ready?”

 Yuri looked at the light peeking through the cracked door. There were voices on the other side, voices that he’d probably have to fight tooth and nail in a few moments. Was he ready? Yeah. The hurt and anger was stirring too loudly inside of him to allow fear or hesitation.

 He let go of Otabek’s hands and straightened his tie, slicking back his hair as his eyes turned to ice, “I’m ready.”

 The pictures were heavy in his pocket. He’d protect those smiles and that warmth with everything he had.

 

 

 This love story wouldn’t be forgotten.


	2. Aperture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their story begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first draft! Sorry if there are any grammar mistakes or ugly sentences, I was too eager to get the first chapter out and will get things polished when I send it to my beta reader for a run-down.

**Chapter 1: Aperture**

 

**June, 1939**

Victor flipped through another pile full of sailor photos on docks, followed by a single photo of a German Shepard posing stiffly by the entrance of a forest, then a self portrait of a handsome young man with a prominent nose and bushy eyebrows. His expression stayed the exact same as he casually tossed every single one in the trash. What was he looking for? He knew this wasn't it. He'd gone through a stack of envelopes as thick as a bible. So many of them were photos of sailors, probably an attempt to impress him because he was a war photographer. But he didn't want simple photos of soldiers, anyone could shove a camera in front of some men in uniform; no, he was looking for something specific. 

He went out onto the field for the first time when he was 18 years old. He was an orphan with no money to his name, pawning cameras and taking odd jobs for restaurants and cheap bars. The man who had raised him was a war photographer and from a young age, that man was his inspiration. His muse. But he never allowed Victor to follow him into fire, not until he was an 'adult'. The moment he turned 18, he found himself surrounded by dead men and discarded metal and he threw his soul into it. No one cared who he was then, but now he had totes of envelopes from people wanting to be like him, wanting to do what he did for the notoriety and thrill of it all. He could feel the effort and youthful energy that came from most of the photos. He had that energy too, before he found out that being on the field added an ancient and heavy weight to the soul. After seeing the ugliest of humanity, that kind of energy gets perverted and twisted until it's ripped away from the photographer, leaving something wiser and more hollow. 

That was what he was doing right now, trying to fill that hollow space. He was alone and he wasn't strong enough to bear it any longer. He had to pass on the legacy of Yakov's knowledge. That was the reason for doing this silly contest. Well, that was the reason he'd convinced himself. The truth was more selfish. He had students dying to learn from him, yet here he was. He ripped open another package with a self portrait of a young girl with cropped hair and deep dimples; he didn't even look at her photos. No. 

Hollow. Generic. Trying too hard. Too young. Gross. 

A portrait of dark hair, a soft face, and round spectacles poked out of a package he was about to trash. Victor paused, his heart stopping in his chest. He picked up the stack of photos tied to it, gently carding through each one with care.

 

**********************

 

What if people had the power to take clear pictures of the night sky? Not murky, dark shades of grey, but exactly as it was in person, with all of the colors and faint light that made a person's skin glow. What if people had the power to pause a memory and take a snapshot of it to return to whenever they wanted to visit that emotion again? Black and white film couldn't capture the way starlight reflected in someone's eyes. It couldn't capture cool tones of moonlight on the snow, or the warm reflection of distant fire on the ground. Yuuri wished with all of his heart that he could capture this feeling and keep it forever, laying in soft snow next to Victor, letting the cold melt through his wool coat as fire and gunshots roared far in the distance. The sounds were so ugly, but the sky was beautiful and Victor's fingers were warm wrapped around his own. The snow seemed to be falling in slow motion. Yuuri turned to look at Victor--

"Yuuri!" A cheerful voice ripped Yuuri out of the snow, up into the sky, and into blackness. Which turned out to be the back of his eyelids. It was all a dream. 

He groaned and cracked open an eye to see the blurred image of his roommate's dark eyes and wide smile poking up from the bunk beneath him. Grunting and shaking his head, he went to burrow his face into his pillow but it was quickly yanked from beneath him, "Don't go back to sleep! Wake up. You're going to want to see something." 

"Phichit...no." 

"Yes!  _Yuuri_ ," Phichit made that whiny voice that went up a few octaves, "The mail came in!" 

Yuuri shot up and swung his legs over the side of the bunk, almost falling off in his haste, and frantically felt around for his glasses. As if on cue, Phichit shoved the small pair of round spectacles into Yuuri's hand like he did every morning. He continued chattering excitedly as Yuuri scrambled off the top bunk and dug through his clothes, "I saw the underclassmen coming into the dorms with letters from their sweethearts. There was one that had a box from his mom. It had heaps of hearts on it and he kept saying it was booze from his girl but I saw socks, so...but, Yuuri! What if--"

"You've got to stop saying my name so much so early in the morning," Yuuri buttoned his shirt too hastily, leaving the top button without a hole to go through. Being torn from that dream left him grumpy, but now anxiety was cutting in.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm just," Phichit tried to straighten Yuuri's shirt but quickly gave up, instead throwing socks at him, "I'm really," a grunt, then he chucked shoes at him, "Really excited! Your contest results are supposed to come in the mail today. What if you've won? You could go to the Soviet Union and see Victor in person. You could take lessons from him for a whole month! How are you not excited?" 

At the mention of Victor's name, Phichit gestured to the cut prints of black and white photos littering the wall near their writing desk. There were more than fifty covering the wall from floor to ceiling; gruesome photos of of men taking bullets, somber faces of soldiers, blurred people running, people holding hands, even some portraits of a long-haired Victor looking more serene and beautiful than any woman Yuuri had ever seen. Yuuri was lucky to have Phichit as a friend because anyone else would have found his collection disturbing. They wouldn't understand, wouldn't see the beauty and courage behind the grim images. Phichit didn't quite see it, either--he found them creepy--but he never judged Yuuri. He always supported him, like he was doing right now. 

The thought chased away any of the lingering grumpiness Yuuri had. He swallowed thickly, attempting to slick back his wild bedhead, "I'm...I'm not going to win. Hundreds of people probably sent in photos. Mine aren't anything special. I'm going to check but...I don't..." 

Phichit grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him out the door, talking over his shoulder as they half-walked, half-ran, "I don't care what you say. Yeah, you get average grades and your photoshoots are kind of boring. But when you take that huge camera outside and take whatever kind of pictures you want? They look just like that Victor guy's work. You're both weird and I think he'd love your photos." 

"Stop," Yuuri slapped his palm on his face to cover his anxious blush; his beating heart was starting to make him feel sick, "I'm not worthy." 

He wanted to be.

"Quit being so hard on yourself. I don't want to hear another word out of you unless it's 'I did it' or 'thank you Phichit, my best friend and brother, for waking me up in time to beat the crowds in the mailroom'," Phichit pulled Yuuri to a stop in front of the long wall of locked cubbyholes. It was here that the boys at the university would collect their mail when the day came around every week. Yuuri's was in the middle towards the bottom. He was terrified to open it. 

He simply stood frozen and stared at it, fidgeting with his uneven buttons and fighting the urge to go back into his bed. Phichit grabbed his shoulders and shoved him down into a crouch, snapping him out of his nervous daze, and pointed at Yuuri's mailbox with a slender hand, "Yuuri!"

"Okay, okay. I'm going to...," Yuuri let out a long sigh and opened his lock, pulling out a single beige envelope. It was embroidered with gaudy patterns and two flamboyant L's. It looked like Victor Nikiforov. He probably had them printed like this for everyone who entered. 

The top of the envelope tore with ease and the paper was thick and smelled faintly sweet. It was a letter, long and written with a typewriter, but Yuuri couldn't get past the first sentence.

_'Yuuri Katsuki, congratulations. As the selected candidate, we would be honored if you would come to the residence of Victor Nikiforov on the...'_

Phichit's hand rested on his shoulder and for the first time that morning, Phichit's voice was tinged with concern, "You're making the cry face. Don't cry out here in public, alright? What does it say?" 

Yuuri was in too much shock to stand properly. His ears were ringing from his rapid pulse and his eyes were stinging. Things like this didn't happen to people. He was supposed to send in his photos for the fun of it because Victor was his idol and then get the rejection letter and then accept that he tried. Victor was untouchable, more of a fairytale than a person. A legend. He wasn't something that Yuuri could physically see or touch. So what was happening right now? 

He looked up at Phichit with his nose scrunched up in his infamous ugly crying face, "I did it." 

Phichit beamed. 

 

**************************

 

Yuuri's mother beamed as well when he came home to tell his family the news. She strained across the table to frame his face with tiny, soft hands; her eyes were so bright and full of pride that Yuuri couldn't look away. She was always his biggest supporter. When he was seventeen, she had discovered the clippings of blurred violence and dirty faces under his bed. That day lived on in his memory like a gentle flame that refused to go out. He'd opened his heart to her that day about what the images made him feel, how he didn't see the image itself, but what was behind the camera. Someone had confronted those crying faces. Someone walked into the filth so that they could share the truth with the world, not some sensationalized headline. He didn't know the face of the man who took the pictures at the time, only his name, but in a way he understood him. He could read the words the pictures were saying. The raw honesty of them stirred up an emotion in him. It inspired him. He didn't expect her to understand but she tried her best, she never pressured him to join the army or go into business. She supported him unconditionally, much like Phichit. They were similar people.

His father grinned just as wide as his mother, but was pouring a glass of gin with unsteady hands, "That's our boy! A real artist. Learning from a guy in the Soviet Union! So far away...war photography, you said? Journalism? Isn't that dangerous nowadays? Those pictures used to be clean but now they try to get up in the action." 

"Dad, I--" 

Yuuri's older sister, Mari, stood up abruptly and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind her. The smile on his mother's face fell. Yuuri moved to get up, but was stopped by small hands around his wrist, "It's not your fault, Yuuri. She's just worried about you. When you went to school to take pictures, we were expecting something different, you know? Fashion shoots or...ads. It's not usually so dangerous, so she's just..."

"I know," Yuuri pulled away from her grip, his shoulders heavy. Taking Mari's path through the door to the hallway, he followed the smell of cigarette smoke to his bedroom where she was perched against his pillows, giving the wall a hard stare. She refused to look at him, flicking ash onto his blankets.

Yuuri let out an offended noise, but she quickly cut him off, "I heard what mom said and she's just babying you like she always does. It is your fault. You said you wanted to take pictures, not join the goddamn army. You can't even kill a spider, what makes you think you could go out into a battlefield?" 

There was a short moment of silence as Yuuri studied Mari's face and Mari studied the wall. Her eyes were iced over without emotion but her jaw was clenched, something she always did to stop herself from crying since they were kids. The way she hunched forward and hugged her arms around herself made her look small. She didn't react at all when he sat down beside her, instead she took a long drag of her cigarette and sat in a stone cold silence. Yuuri smoothed his bangs out of his face, his chest heavy, "I'm not joining the army, really. I'm not doing this to fight. I'm doing it because it's important to me." 

"Yeah," her voice was harsh and uneven, "I know that. I know that taking pictures is more important to you than anything else. More important than us."

Yuuri's shoulders hunched forward in a posture identical to Mari's; her words stung him. Something deep inside of him was afraid that she was right, "That's not fair, Mari." 

"What's not fair is you leaving us behind to do something that's going to get you killed. Ass." 

Yuuri ran his hand through his hair again, his eyes trained in his lap. Mari flicked some ash on his pants out of spite but he didn't make a move to yell at her about it. He rummaged through his pocket and pulled out the beige envelope. The sweet smell still lingered on it, cutting through the cigarette smoke. The movement seemed to have caught Mari's attention, Yuuri could feel her attention shift to him for the first time since he entered the room. Nestled underneath the letter was the small pile of photos he submitted. He tugged out the top one and held it between himself and Mari. It was a calm moment of her curled up in the shadows of the willow in the backyard, a book in her lap and a cigarette resting in her lips. Her face was stern but held that rare softness reserved for when she was alone with her thoughts. Her hair was slicked back and wild and she was wearing their father's trousers but she looked beautiful because she was completely at peace. The way the shadows fell over her made her look like she belonged under that tree; she was a flower that had grown at the base of it. This was how he saw her. No words could convey it, but the photo told the message for him. 

Mari caught the cigarette between her teeth and took the picture from Yuuri's hands, her tone softened, "When did you take this?" 

"I don't remember," Yuuri pushed his glasses up his nose, his voice small, "It was one of the photos I entered. It shows what I see. No one can twist this into anything other than what it is. I don't want to take pictures of fake, pretty things, I want to help people. I want to show the truth. And use this as...something. I-I'm not making a lot of sense probably but I don't plan on dying, Mari. I promise. There's a lot of things..."

"Spit it out."

Yuuri heard Mari put her cigarette out on his wall, which encouraged him to go on, "I've wanted to report what happens on the battlefield ever since I was young. I've wanted to make pictures my whole life. When I see Victor's work, I feel this connection. I just feel like I need to do this. Something is pulling me to...," he hesitated, terrified of what might come out of his mouth, "To him." 

Mari went still. 

Yuuri felt bile rise in his throat, then a soft weight of a cheek on his shoulder and Mari's messy hair tickling his neck and jaw. The relief that flooded Yuuri only made the bile in his throat worse and he couldn't find any words to say. They sat in silence for a long time before Mari sighed, "Okay. Okay, I get it. I get what you're saying and I've known, alright? I'm still mad at you though. And I think you're stupid." 

"I'm going to come home, Mari." 

 

***************************

 

The farewells Yuuri said before getting onto the plane echoed through his head. They had been repeating in his mind for hours. It was enough to drown out the horror that a) he was flying above the clouds in a metal monster and b) that he was surrounded by extremely wealthy people. In the letter he'd been sent, Victor had wrote that he'd purchased a ticket for the winner of the contest. Yuuri was aware that plane tickets were expensive, but he didn't think that he'd be flying with women in satin and solid diamonds. He'd dressed in his nicest suit and he still felt out of place. Every time he realized how high up he was or felt someone watching him, his mind drifted to holding his sobbing mother or the way Phichit hugged him with stiff fists and a forced smile. Thoughts like this probably shouldn't comfort him but they did. 

When the plane lifted off the ground, the sun had been high in the sky. Now as the plane was landing, the sunlight was taking its final breaths; clouds were dyed pink and had dimmed to a warm glow. Yuuri longed to take a photo of it. He clutched his bulky camera to himself like a lifeline when the plane fully landed. His feet itched to get off the plane to go to Victor as if they could sense where he was. His body was eager but his mind was in a panicked shock. He still wasn't convinced that Victor was a real person who he could see and touch, yet his legs stood, and his body moved even though his mind did not. He grabbed his bags in a hurry and pushed through the crowd exiting the plane, passing Soviet signs and looking for a head of fair hair. Rounding a corner, he bumped into a tall man with an eye-patch and yelped, apologizing profusely. The man simply muttered something in Russian and then moved on. Taking a deep breath to recover from the interaction, he kept his eyes on the ground for a moment and pushed forward, only to bump into another chest. This person had on fancy, black leather shoes with gaudy patterns. He took a step back, but the man's hands remained on his shoulders. There was a sweet, familiar smell. 

Yuuri's eyes cautiously raised to look at Victor's face as if he'd look at the sun. Both were things that he realistically should not be able to stare at up close in anything other than pictures. Victor's eyes were pale blue. His own eyes were comically large and bulging out of his flushed head.     

Victor's features were pointed, stern, and thoughtful. Beautiful, intimidating---

 

 

Victor broke into a goofy grin, "Yuuri!" 

**Author's Note:**

> I'll get better as I go!
> 
> You can find me at my tumblr: hayley-is-dreaming.tumblr.com


End file.
